


Emergency Management

by Araceli



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araceli/pseuds/Araceli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like a metric ton of ocean water air dropped onto a raging forest fire, sometimes dealing with Newton requires drastic intervention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergency Management

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration:  
> A lovely piece drawn by MageMg originally posted on Tumbr. http://magemg.tumblr.com/post/58123099189/so-i-actually-prefer-hermann-newton-than
> 
> Beta:  
> The wonderful Aonorunic. 
> 
> Caveats:  
> I have not read the book. I have not, as of yet, seen the movie. I have not read any fanfics. However, I did do some research (see: “Sources”). 
> 
> Sources:  
> Pacificrim.wikia:  
> • Newton and Hermann’s profiles, the portions titled “Early Life” and “Personalities”, nothing under “Pacific Rim” (well, I skimmed it and decided I’d rather see the movie and subsequently chucked the info right out of my head.)  
> • A link on Newton’s profile sent me to a wiki article about Newton’s inventions (k-scanner, milking machine, etc.) Didn’t get too much out of this, other than technical terms and that Kaijus are, in fact, the antagonists. Oh, and they are aliens and their fluids (bleck) are venomous.

Newton Geiszler is a natural disaster, of this Hermann is convinced.

Like an unsteady tornado, a vortex of churning energy, sustained not by opposing pressure systems but relentless enthusiasm, never intent on destruction, yet somehow finding himself in the middle of it regardless. He interacts with their environment carelessly, with the spatial awareness of a category five hurricane.

“And, okay, seriously-” Newton punctuates his frustration with a sharp sideways slice of a hand. Knuckles collide with a pencil cup, knocking it over. Chewed yellow pencils clack onto the desk, some onto the floor. Pens, teasing needles, long skinny pins, and what must surely be a scalpel, join them.

Undeterred by the crash, Newton’s hand continues trajectory - straight into a small preservation receptacle. Hermann registers the faint metallic click of Newton’s skull ring against the glass. His brain skips five seconds into the near probable future - a future where glass shards remain on the floor for weeks. That God awful stench of preservation serum mixed with alien viscera will linger indefinitely. Neither of which will disturb Newton in the least. Both of which will drive Hermann to apoplexy.

Only the sharp shatter of glass doesn’t happen. Un-phased, still spewing facts supporting an argument Hermann forgot days ago, Newton catches the thing.

“It’s got to be one of the dumbest things I’ve ever been asked to do,” he carries on, absent mindedly pushing the container to an approximation of its original home. “Who even cares? It’s a complete waste of time. And if they would just listen, for like, a second, they would understand-”

This, believe it or not, is glimpse into a life with one Newton Geiszler.

It is walking into a room, seeing him elbows deep in the circuitry of a K-scanner and calculating the odds of electrical shock. It is alien guts splat all over the floor. It is non sequitur rambling and cut-off sentences. It is arguments that start and stop, only to start again three days later. It is mess and noise and odd chemical smells.

It’s sharing a space with the definitive personification of entropy.

“Dr. Geiszler,” Herman interrupts, or rather _tries_ to interrupt.

Newton only plows onward, unhearing. “-that it’s a lot like the difference between snakes and spiders. Extra extremities, or lack thereof excluded, because Kaiju’s are different like that too. But at the end of the day you don’t know which one is poisonous versus which one will just non-lethally bite you. You Just. Don’t. Know.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann tries again, louder with more agitation. The effect is not unlike talking at a brick wall. He can only sigh, pinch the bridge of his nose- summoning up the patience to wait, perhaps try again in a few minutes.

“And it really is a shame that it’s come to this,” Newton bemoans. “They are such magnificent creatures. Yeah, turning their own brain cell killing, skin eating venom against them would be a big win for us, but is that really-”

It is far too late, and Hermann far too tired to listen to the inane idealization of the very creatures hell bent on the destruction of their planet. “Doctor,” he enunciates quite clearly, “Geiszler.”    

Miraculously, Newton halts abruptly. One hand frozen mid-flounder. His mouth open but silent.

“Oh,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. “Right. Sorry.”

Messiah on high, miracles do exist.

 “Where was I? Right. Okay. So, let’s just pretend that we were able to synthesize the neural toxin, okay? Assume, against you know, logic, that we manage to-”

Hermann’s sigh is aggravated, volume exaggerated, yet still completely unnoticed. The goal hadn’t been to refocus Newton’s attention. The goal had been to get Newton to shut the bloody hell up.

The tragedy of the situation being, of course, that Hermann could have been fast asleep by now. Less than ten minutes ago Hermann had been outside his door.  His bed had been only meters away. Only a few steps had separated him from the rest for which his body positively ached. He had been so close. So terribly close. Then Newton came to mind.

Herman had hobbled all the way back to the lab.

“And can you imagine, Herm?” Newton rushes around the desk, dust devil quick and teetering. A sharp corner catches the fleshy inside of a hip. The jamming impact spills more clutter onto the floor. Newton, as ever, pays the damage no mind. “Just, like, find two shreds of creativity in that dull grey brain matter of yours and really imagine the spec…specifi…” He trails off into a stutter.

The past fifty-two hours are nothing but a blur. Hermann’s time devoted to long stretches of calculations interrupted only by coffee and cat naps.  Hermann is tired.

“Specisities? No.” Newton corrects himself. He twists his lips into a slant, eyes narrowing into a frustrated furrow. “Specififces? Specicities? No. Why is this so hard? Specisities? No.”

Herman rubs tension off his forehead. These last jittery tailwinds of his caffeine crash are turbulent to say the least. Soon, his system will have nothing except sheer will power to keep itself up and running. He ought to just go to bed.

Instead he opens his mouth.   “Specificity,” he offers.

Newton clings to the word. The crease between his eyes momentarily fades. “Yes! That!” He flails, physically launching himself into the next bit of circular rambling. “That is exactly what the tests need to be in order to subjugate the basic molecular structures. It’ll be a mess. Think the k-scanner fiasco times ten, Herm. People will be poisoned left and right before there’s any real progress.”

Erratic behavior begets erratic behavior. There exists no set algorithm to explain Newton. He exhibits no singular tells. Distress may present with sullen self-isolation, conversely it may also present as extreme socialization. He may go off food entirely, or snack continuously. He may pace or laze around. He may trap all his thoughts inside, or verbalize them incessantly.  He may also do any number of the above when at baseline.

Trial by error, Hermann learned the hard way. Reading Newton takes a complex ratio of rationality to artistry, the paring of logic and intuition.

After years of working together, he is perhaps the best to diagnose Newton. Methodically he tracks signs and symptoms, using those observations to jump to a conclusion. Everyone else gets distracted. Newton can misdirect the best of them.

Even Hermann still falls for it, occasionally leaving for bed only to return fifteen minutes later. Except, that mental picture had come to mind. A creased brow above narrowed eyes, jerky movements and a tense set of shoulders. Newton hadn’t been eating. His fingers had been tapping all day, restless irritating patterns. In fact he spent most of the past twelve hours roaming about, listless. Moving from nest to nest, sketching heavy handed outlines of alien anatomy.

Altogether, this is not terribly abnormal behavior- not for this particular subject. No one commented on it

It made Herman’s gut twist. Today was not merely an off day. It was an off day after several off days; perhaps a week. He can’t remember when Newton last stumbled into the lab, bleary eyed and sleep dazed. Those memories are pronounced, set points of passing time.  Just as the sun rises, Newton drags heels into the lab, bumping into door jams and metal instrument tables alike. The last memory of it is hazy at best.

“And I swear to any deity you can think of, Hermann. No seriously, make a list. I’ll swear on ‘em: Vishnu, Ahura Mazda, that lady with all the lethal biting snakes on her head-”

Approximately 90% of the time, Newton can handle himself. Perhaps with more spit wads and other juvenile hijinks than necessary, but that’s expected.He’s nonlinear. His approach to the scientific method counts as caustic at best. For all his eccentricities, his moods, his _tattoos,_ he never lets his unique brain chemistry interfere with progress. He merely adapts.

Occasionally, unfortunately, the remainder of that hundred percent rears its ugly head. And Newton, so entirely swept away by raging waters, doesn’t even think of reaching for a flare gun.

“-which I always thought was kind of-” Newton tenses as Hermann moves forward. The body recognizes sudden, close proximity before the brain. “Dude, what’re-” he starts. Shutting up he goes easily, allowing Herman to drive him backwards until his spine hits the blackboard. Equations smear. Hermann doesn’t care.

“It’s three in the morning.” It’s fact, irrefutable, unbending. Hermann delivers it through gritted teeth.

Newton only rolls his eyes.

“Uh, we’re on a military base, Herm.” He snipes back with cheerful derision, as if they weren’t standing toe-to-toe, as if his hand wasn’t searching out the chalk ledge for touchstone, his wrist instead smacking against the cold metal lip.  He grins as if Hermann _doesn’t know_. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to say fifteen-hundred.”   

The skull rings clicks against the ledge. Hermann grabs the wrist. His fingers press into the portrait of a monster. “Fifteen hundred is three in the afternoon, Dr. Geiszler. A much more reasonable time for your rambling nonsense. No, it is currently three AM not PM.”

“Uh, excuse you,” he sasses, but it’s far more tense than playful. Eyes drift away slightly, no longer maintaining contact, scrutinizing the weave of Hermann’s sweater. “Any time is a good time for my rhetorical _genius,_ Herm. Like, any time. Day, night, nap, quiet, party, lunch-”

 Hermann tightens his grip. “Enough,” he snaps, pressing fingernails enough to bite without breaking painted skin. “Contrary to what I can only call your misbeliefs, Newton, your health is no small matter. Your attempt at ignorant levity insults not only my intelligence, but your self-worth. It is beneath you.”

Newton squirms, muttering petulantly, “Like you know anything about my health.”

“I know…” He pauses to reconsider, loosening the iron grip into a softer hold, running finger pads over crescent indentations. “I suspect, I know as much as you wish, Newton. The fact I’m noticing now indicates dire straits. There is no shame in accepting help.”

The only response is a thick, pronounced swallow. “It’s been a hard week, Herm.” Newton admits, head tipping back onto green slate. “I hate this. I hate feeling like this.”

They’ve had this discussion. Not many times before, but enough. There’s nothing to say which Newton has not yet heard, nothing to say that would give a new perspective on the double edge sword that is his neurochemistry. On one hand he’s blessed with massive intelligent. The price being random bouts of insomnia; held hostage, kept awake by over active synapses until color bleeds out of the world.

Pity is not the appropriate reaction. Newton doesn’t want pity, doesn’t deserve it.

“Yes, but it’s over. It’s finished.  Newton, it is done.”

It would have to be, for Newton to start shows signs now. Call him childish, for he is often just that, but he’s not greedy. He doesn’t ask for help when it would only fall to waste. He’s pragmatic when it counts, rather, when he feels it counts.

Newton doesn’t open his eyes immediately. When he does the lids are half-mast. His gaze already clouded by on coming unconsciousness. He stares at Hermann for a long moment. Almost too long, rarely blinking, eyes analyzing, the gears behind them move slowly.

The hug starts off as a lunge. Ends with a fist clenched in his sweater, the other arm wrapped around his back. Newton buries a forehead into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

It takes Hermann a moment. Eventually he wraps an arm over the breadth of shoulders, his other hand twisting against the handle of his cane. “Think nothing of it.”

Hermann lets the moment stand for as long as possible. Two ships at harbor, it seems.

Only when Newton’s breathe grows progressively deeper and even, does Hermann nudge them apart. “Come on, off to bed with you, before you miss this window and you’re awake for another twenty-four hours.”

“Mother hen.”

“I prefer a light house instead, directing wayward ships stuck in ragging seas.”

“Oh. My God.” Newton yawns. “You call me melodramatic, but do you even hear your metaphors? Do not,” he yawns, “mention the hand of God. I swear.”

“Hush, you are dangerously sleep deprived. At present I wouldn’t expect much to make sense to you.” Hermann chides, directly Newton along towards the lab’s one and only exit. It’s a stumbling effort between the two of them.

“Yeah, well, your face is sleep deprived.” He yawns again, jaw splitting, nearly crashing into a desk.

“How utterly succinct.”

“Shut up. I’m a rock star.”

**Author's Note:**

> My (semi-ignorant) interpretation of the characters (if you’re interested):
> 
> Hermann: Wiki says he’s German. I can’t imagine him speaking with subtitles for the whole movie. So I picture him with a German-British accent and tried to keep his vocab and syntax as close to British English as possible. He seems like a cross between Harry Potter’s Remus Lupin and Severus Snape, with some Spock thrown in for fun. Anyway, he cares, but he’s kind of an awkward jerk about it. Introverted, smart and professional, knows the purpose of a laboratory log and how to use it. For him everything must have a purpose and a place.
> 
>  
> 
> Newton: Also German, but from what I gathered spent his time in California and then Massachusetts. A kaiju “groupie” according to the wiki. Bio mentions he’s like an enthusiastic, 12-year-old. There’s absolutely no way a person like that doesn’t completely embrace the American surfer-dude talk (e.g. Awesome, totally, like, dude, rock star.) So I tried sticking him more with the “generic” American vocabulary and syntax, the kind seen in tv series and movies. He’s talkative and a sweetie, but if you take your eyes off him for a microsecond you’ll find him sticking random crap in a microwave while shouting “SCIENCE.”


End file.
